Before the Wing, Before the Choir
by Rehime
Summary: I will never be a memory. [Oneshot, end of AC. Spoilers? Heck yes.]


**Author's note**: My first mark on the Final Fantasy VII portion of this site. Inspired by the last resounding fight of Cloud and Sephiroth, I wanted to explain that eerie dialogue Sephiroth says right before reverting back to Kadaj.

Square Enix owns all these wonderful, tragic (angsty?) characters and the equally amazing story.

It is my sincere hope that you enjoy this fic.

**Before the Wing, Before the Choir**

**by Talim-Hime**

A barrage of swords falling from the sky became implanted harmlessly in the ground upon impact, and their wielder landed in the midst of them soon after. The wielder's main sword fell toward him, and he shot out a hand expectantly, catching it by the hilt without so much as a glance. He looked up at the light returning to the world, obscuring the figure of the man he'd just defeated, the story in which he wanted to finally put an end to.

"Stay where you belong," he said in a firm but distant voice. "In my memories."

Sephiroth heard Cloud's words resonate clearly in the vastness atop of the ruins of Midgar; the wind suddenly rushed down as heaven's light shone through the calamity of the hell-born clouds. Pain held Sephiroth's body taunt and still, like a puppet whose master had abandoned it in mid-performance.

The light and dark of the sky were mixing in front of his vision, and Sephiroth fought hard to keep his composure and the knowing smirk he knew was growing on his face. Then the figure of Cloud and that blasted air ship became sucked into the dizzying swirl. The ruins of Midgar, like in the past, were helpless as it too became part of the spinning void. Spinning downward, downward into the oblivion Sephiroth had avoided for so long.

As if to confirm he would no longer fly free, a single wing, grayish but far from brittle, burst into full length. It then relaxed as it let the ever-dominating wind support it. Sephiroth no longer had control over his own pathetic appendage, the only thing left of his plans for so much more.

Sephiroth wondered where else he had felt such pain before.

:o:o:

"Last time it hurt a lot," Sephiroth told Hojo as he swabbed the target area of his arm with alcohol.

Hojo looked up at the youth with a small, superior smile. "I will be more careful this time."

The chair that Hojo had gingerly placed the boy on was tall, something akin to a throne for a person of a small stature. He swung his legs, as if he were trying to alert Hojo to this fact.

"Stay still," Hojo commanded. "It really will hurt if you keep that up."

_It hurt anyway_, Sephiroth thought bitterly after Hojo plunged the needle into the swabbed area, and blood rushed into the tube with ease. Hojo's spectacles gleamed in the strong sun shining through the windows lining the room's northern wall. Despite the border of light, Sephiroth could tell he was pleased.

"Just a few more tubes of blood, and I will be done," Hojo informed Sephiroth as he held up the prized red tube. Sephiroth had been told Hojo only needed one, but the man was free to do what he wanted to him, being his physician and benefactor, after all. This put the youth in a state of moderate alarm.

"What do you do with the blood?" Sephiroth asked.

"I check it, to make sure you're growing up big and strong," Hojo said. "When you join SOLDIER, I want you to be healthy."

Sephiroth squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable with the man he felt he should somehow make a connection with, if only for the sake of companionship, however sporadically Hojo made his visits. No other children resided in the manor the Shin-Ra company and Hojo provided for him. Whenever he asked why they would furnish him a whole house, the nursemaids simply replied, "They're kind of like your parents." And that was that.

"Well, my tutor is teaching me about the human body now," Sephiroth exclaimed, hoping to impress the strange man who had been taking his blood away from him since he could remember.

"How fascinating," Hojo murmured quietly, unable to tear his gaze from the tube as he uncapped a permanent marker and labeled it with an identifying symbol.

"He says that human blood has its own…what's it called? _DNA_? But I don't understand. Our blood is the same color. How is our blood different?"

Hojo looked down at the boy with a blank look, then the thin mouth shot into a smile.

"You're right, boy. Our blood is more similar than you think."

Sephiroth wouldn't know what this meant for a long, long time.

At the time, he couldn't wonder about Hojo's comment. After more painful tests and shots, Hojo left him weak and tapped dry of energy. Just how many blood samples could someone need? And Sephiroth was starting to think that Hojo hadn't even done him the courtesy of bandaging him up right.

Curiousity getting the better of him, Sephiroth fiddled with the thick, tight bandage as it seeped with blood, staining quickly and suddenly like the spilling of a full cup. It took little time for blood to start creeping out onto his arm.

He let out a panicked yell and started pulling at the bandages. With a mighty tug he ripped it off, jolting upright at the sharp sting of pulled skin. The blood proceeded to stain his pale arm.

With weakening, harsh gasps he shakily thrust open the door which led into the dining room. The thud that resulted alerted the nursemaids setting the table for lunch and Hojo, who had been sitting hunched over in thought. When he saw his patient stumble in, he narrowed his eyes at him in inspection.

Sephiroth stood there for a long while, breathing hard and completely aware of the mortifying sight of drying, caking blood and growing dizzy with the metallic whiff the open wound emitted. Once he got a good look, his eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the floor.

The ceiling started to blur, it started to swirl, an oak-stained image clouding his vision. Suddenly white was thrown into the mix; the nurses had rushed toward him squawking and squabbling in panic. When they reached him, most of them maids flapped their hands uselessly. The two senior maids were checking his vitals.

"What did you do to him? I thought you wanted some blood, not all of it," one of the older maids snapped at Hojo. The other older nursemaid gave him a glare she only used on street dogs and filthy moneylenders.

Hojo looked surprised at the question. His eyes could be seen behind his thick spectacles, pondering just how to explain his actions. There wasn't much to explain. He turned his gaze toward the limp youth.

"I needed more samples," Hojo said simply in a quiet, reflective voice. He got up and joined the crowed surrounding Sephiroth, his long hair now hiding his face from sight.

The spinning void was getting too much to bear. Sephiroth closed his eyes and surrendered to the bliss of oblivion.

:o:o:

Memories were cruel things, Sephiroth realized as he came back into his present and very unpleasant situation.

To tread and haunt someone like the best of stalkers. Torturing only the bearer, silently to make it all the more excruciating. If that was the power of memories, then Sephiroth had to admit he was impressed.

But Sephiroth could not be pleased with the simple, silent destruction of Cloud. He wanted the destruction of everything, and to make as much noise and calamity as possible while he was at it. Shin-Ra, Hojo, the planet…they were cruel masters. He needed to live. To always be capable of inflicting pain, just like the planet, just like Shin-Ra, just like Hojo.

_Just like Mother_, Sephiroth thought. He could hold on no longer. Looking down at Cloud from his confinement in the sky, he slowly gathered his voice.

"I will…never be a memory."

From the shocked, wind-struck look that appeared on Cloud Strife's face, Sephiroth knew he had not received his wish. Memories could not choose to exist, they simply _were_. They existed, and what resulted in their wake they could not help.

As his wing shrouded him in darkness, Sephiroth saw Hojo, saw Mother. He saw Nibelheim aflame, he saw Tifa dangling in front of his vision, trying in vain to avenge her father. He saw Zack, after hitting the wall, slump over and lay still. He saw a rookie soldier called Cloud, demanding that Sephiroth bring back his friends and family, throw him into the depths of the Mako Reactor.

Sephiroth saw a girl bent in prayer in a city forgotten. He could see green eyes become tense and grow cold as Masamune first jerked and slid out her back.

He watched a broken man carry her into the blue waters of the same holy place, releasing her to final rest.

The glint of the Buster Sword as Cloud brought it down over his head was the last thing Sephiroth ever saw.

If memories could inflict so much pain, Sephiroth was just fine becoming one.

:o:o:

Hoped you enjoyed. A review, by the way, would make my day.


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